


Untouchable

by ArdentAudacity



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Alchemy? I think?, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Aquaphobia, Basically he embraces economy of movement....no pretenses or looking nice, Chase gets a reality check, Chase is VERY interested in the new guy, Depression, Guilt, He gets better, He gets his own fighting style too--I'm basing it off Krav Maga and Ty Lee's pressure points, How many tags is too much?, Jack Dies, Jackpots with personality, Literally first chapter, M/M, Necromancy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, So much better, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, bamf Jack Spicer, god so much angst, triggering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 11:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdentAudacity/pseuds/ArdentAudacity
Summary: Jack died a few years ago, and, regrets and guilt aside, life moves on.Now there's a new Heylin player on the chessboard. He goes by the name Vapor and shows no interest in working with either Chase or the monks. Instead, he targets only certain wu, gathering them for an unknown purpose.Chase is intrigued.





	1. The Penny Drops

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy this pairing a lot. Their collective sass kills me every time. The majority of the stories centered around this pairing usually have this massive power imbalance between Jack and Chase. I wanted to tip that a bit, give Chase Young, Heylin Prince of Darkness a little run for his money. So I got Jack a OC teacher, I swear to fanfiction fans everywhere it is not me shoved into the story. I don't intend the teacher to appear too often. I'm not tagging it. (Though they are pretty damn influential in Jack’s survival and growth into a badass.) 
> 
> Basically I chose to write this story because I wanted to read it, damn it. Constructive criticism is welcome, but flame it at the risk of me not giving a fuck.
> 
> Chow. *Salutes with a saucy wink and drops through a trapdoor*

Weariness hung from Jack Spicer's shoulders like a cast iron chain. Dark circles colored the bags under his eyes, the only flaws in his ivory skin. His thin hand reached up to tug at his burning, red hair. He sat, hunched, on his bed. God, he was such a failure. He gritted his teeth so tightly his jaw ached, curling inward on himself till all he could see was his skinned knees. Another day, another lost showdown. How many times had he lost the Monkey Staff to the monks? He was too weak and untrained to stand a chance in a head-to-head fight with the monks with out it. A sharp pain ground into his side. Courtesy of Omi's merciless fists. "'On the side of righteousness my pasty white ass." He said under his breath.

"Sir." Said a voice made of polished metal. The teen looked up. It was the Medbot. "If you lie down, I can tend to your injuries." It hovered a little closer, almost anxiously. Sometimes, Jack could swear they had emotions. He snorted, wishful thinking. They were the closest things he had to friends. _Damn, that's sad_. A hot, swollen feeling bunched up in his throat. His hero, Chase Young, was disgusted by his presence. Wuya only treated him like a toy to manipulate and cast away at will. Then there was his lovely, supportive family who barely spoke to him. And, of course, the monks who took every opportunity to gang up on him, mock him, use him. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the thoughts screaming in his mind's ear. 

"Sir?" There was a slight uptick to the word in imitation of an inquisitive tone.

"Not now, Medbot." Jack said at last. "I just," he struggled to find the words. "I just want to be alone." But he was always alone. "Tell the other bots I don't want to be bothered, alright?"

The Medbot hesitated, its steel head cocked to the side. "Yes, sir." The bot said so professionally Jack almost felt he imagined the pause. But as the bot backed out of the room, Jack thought he heard a quiet, "sleep well, sir."

Jack flopped backward into the bedspread, heedless of the grime, sweat, blood, and engine oil on his clothes and skin. Spending a few minutes just breathing slowly, Jack tried to soak up the quiet. Maybe the peace of the dark room could absorb the loudness in his head. 

It didn't. 

The volume dial cranked up the voices another notch.

_You'll never amount to anything._

_Such a disappointment._

_Why do you even try?_

_Useless._

_Worthless._

_Pathetic._

_Freak._

_Worm._

And finally: _No one will ever love you._

Hot tears crept down the albino boy's cheeks, rolling off the sides of his face into his hair and brushing his ears. His heart crumpled in his chest like tinfoil. He heaved, throwing his arm over his face to hide his eyes. Then he started laughing: a sick, twisted laugh that cracked in the stale air. "Ha, you really are just as pathetic as everyone says." He said into the darkness. Ridiculous. Why was he so hurt by this realization? He'd known he wasn't worth much. He'd known for years. But he just kept doggedly after Chase and Wuya, trying again and again to please them, make them proud of him. He'd made a fool of himself, falling face first into all their taunts and cruel manipulation of his fragile ego. Jack lay there for hours, time passed quickly. The hands of the clock spun around its face at impossible speeds. 

It was four in the morning when a new idea trickled to the surface of Jack's mind. It was not a new one, of course not, but it had always been dismissed before. Now, however, it flowered into a wispy new hope. A cold, crystal clarity draped itself over the supine teen. And suddenly…he knew what he had to do. 

Jack shakily got to his feet, wiping his eyes, probably smearing his dark makeup. He stripped off his signature black jacket, his yellow goggles, and his clunky leather combat boots. He made his way to his chrome and tile bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the bathtub's faucet. As hot water filled the tub, Jack shrugged off his dark red shirt which had the words: "I'm not a minion of evil...I'm upper management." A laughable ambition, he realized now. With a single, sure move he shoved off his dark jeans and boxers. He scowled at his naked reflection in the mirror, despising every section of it. Every soft curve. Every lanky line. Every pasty white piece of himself. A caustic self hatred bubbled up inside him, acid in his stomach. It rose until he felt he would burn alive. With a deafening shattering sound the mirror broke apart into millions of parts. Absently, Jack stared down at his bleeding knuckles. He didn't remember wanting to punch the glass. 

He paused, and picked up one of the larger, sharper pieces. The tub was full now and Jack slid his aching, bruised body into the scalding water. A pained hiss of air escaped through his clenched teeth, but his burning skin offered a welcome distraction. He leant back in the basin, closing his eyes. His arms trailed outside the tub, the mirror shard grasped lightly in one of them. He'd originally intended to use his straight razor, though somehow the broken mirror seemed more fitting. With calm efficiency he sliced a vertical line up his left wrist along the vein, unzipping his flesh. Blood poured from the wound with alarming speed, but he ignored it and copied the action on the opposite arm. Sighing, the teenager dropped the red-stained mirror over the side of the tub and submerged his body, except for his head, in the near-boiling water. The bright red blood seeped into the water. The thin ribbons of it: trails of paint on a blank page. 

He closed his eyes and felt, for the first time in years, that he'd gotten something right. No more disappointments. 

He fell asleep and didn't wake up.

*****

The Jackbot designated "Medbot" hovered by the bathroom door. Its master had been in there for almost three hours and had yet to be examined. The bot was…worried which shouldn't have been possible, but it was the only word which would define the uncomfortable feeling buzzing in its circuits. It's master had been more down than usual lately, they'd all noticed it. His movements had been sluggish of late, the dark circles under the mechanics eyes had grown thicker and darker. Now, the man was even refusing medical attention. The bot knew its creator was in need of it at the moment. From past experience, Medbot knew the deep purple bruising from the latest showdown and the way Jack held himself indicated at least one broken rib. It didn't want to think of what might happen if the rib slipped enough to puncture a lung. The bot vibrated slightly, as if shaking itself, then rapped shapely on the door. "Master?" It inquired. No response. The uncomfortable sensation worsened and now the bot would designate it as having transformed into the emotion "dread." It rapped again and opened the door slowly. It creaked on rusted hinges, another sign of how out-of-sorts his master had been. It poked it's metal head in "Master Ja-" it broke off. The dread increased until it could only be termed as the human equivalent of horror. 

In the tub, Jack's head floated in a crimson pool, blending with his hair. The bot let out a loud, shrill beep of distress and zoomed in, scooping its creator out of the bloody bath water, laying it gently on the midnight blue bathroom rug. The metallic hands started doing compressions, beginning the process of CPR, refusing to accept its maker was gone. The body, it registered, was cold. No breath. No heartbeat. No brain waves. The bot shrieked in distress, a heartbreaking sound which would have raised the hair on anyone's arms. If there had been any alive to hear it. Its master was gone. 

Finally, Medbot gave up, staring down at the corpse and the long gashes in the flesh of Jack's arms. 

It left the room. The others had to know.

Over the next few days the Jackbots made the funeral arrangements, forging Jack's signatures when necessary. After some research they found Jack's will already witnessed by three different lawyers. In the event of his death, Jack had furnished an abandoned factory filled with extra parts, recharge stations, oil, and millions of megabytes of data for them to amuse themselves as long as they wanted. He'd also included letters of recommendation on assurances of competence if they ever wanted to try their hands at a human occupation. 

The funeral was quiet and small. They hadn't seen fit to invite anyone else. Jack's parents hadn't spoken to their "disgraced" son in years. The monks were, of course, the cause of his numerous injuries and the bots did not want to observe their celebration in the face of their master's death. Then there was Chase Young and Wuya who were the primary cause of Jack Spicer's low self-esteem. Jack's bots were there, as were the lawyers who witnessed the completion of the will. Some of Jack's colleagues in the field of robotics and science who respected his work and held numerous, extensive online conversations with the red-haired genius were invited, few could show on such short notice, but many sent their condolences and flowers. The preacher looked a little taken aback by the large presence of mechanical men, but managed to remain professional. The funeral ended promptly at 5pm, but the troop of Jackbots lingered long into the night, the moonlight glinting off their metal shoulders.

*****

"The Topaz Beetle is ours!" Gloated Wuya, lifting the aqua blue Shen Gong Wu into the air in triumph. The witch smirked coldly, "I'll take the Third Arm Sash now, if you don't mind, Clay dear." 

The cowboy scowled, but complied. "I reckon you won it fair and square for once, Wuya." He unwrapped the green sash from around his waist and tossed it the her. 

With a yawn, Chase Young took another sip of his Oolong tea and continued staring out over the lush Canadian landscape. "Maybe you monks need more training, that was one of the easiest showdown we've had so far. And we've had quite the rash of those recently, haven't we, Wuya?" Smugness dripped from every angle of his handsome face. 

With a cackle the witch agreed, "Oh yes, the absence of competition from the annoying 'evil boy genius' has contributed to that as well."

The monks had begun filing onto the back of the big-again Dojo, but Omi paused hearing the last comment. "Jack Spicer is your comrade in arms, you should not speak of him so. Your lack of loyalty will be your undoing." He turned to face the pair of evil-doers. Fifteen now, Omi was long and lanky, without an ounce of baby fat left on him. He had grown into his large head at last, and determination was a fire in his black eyes. 

Raimundo Pedrosa grabbed Omi's red tunic when he took a step forward. "Whoa now, buddy, why are you sticking up for the guy? It's not like he's our friend."

The youngest monk brushed off Rai easily. Marching up the the Heylin warlord, Omi jabbed him in his armored chest. "That is of no matter! Jack always supported you, protected you and helped you with his mechanics! I understand you two do not always agree, but he looks up to you! I am tired of you and Wuya always spitting on his toes!"

"In his face!" Corrected Kimiko from Dojo's back.

"That too!"

Sneering disdainfully, Chase crossed his arms. "For your information, young monk, I have every right to treat my allies the way I see fit. I do not know why Spicer has chosen not to attend showdowns in the past three months. Nor do I care”

Wuya’s green eyes burning bright with glee. “He is a worm, nothing more. What is he to us? ” 

“Surely you cannot deny he has talent or potential.” Pressed Omi, refusing to drop the matter. 

“But of course he has potential. I will even admit he has a vein or two of untapped talent.” Chase’s face was a study of implacability, completely clean of all emotion. 

They all stared. Clay spoke first, scratching his head, “Uh, partner—?” 

“Potential!” Wuya interrupted, “Talent!” Her pretty mouth twisted in a cruel snarl. Her fist shook, clenched tightly around the Wu. The Turquoise Beetle creaked in distress.

Chase snatched the Wu out of her hand. "Tch, honestly, you are such a child. Of course he has potential, hag. A body is made of many parts—eyes, ears, mouth, feet. I am, naturally a major body part, like the brain or the heart or the spine. Spicer has potential to be a hand: detail work, grip, signals. The body can go on without the hand, but it is of great use to the body." His reptilian face turned toward Omi, ignoring the monks’ surprise, and continued: “This, however, does not redeem him in my eyes or make him worthy of my respect. Jack Spicer is nothing but an immature and needy child with access to wealth and heavy machinery. He is utterly devoid of honor and has no self-discipline. By being honest and not hesitating to show him my distain for his actions, I am teaching him that he will never be taken seriously until he stops treating everything like a televised comedy.” 

“If he behaves like a child, he will be treated like one. If he behaves dishonorably, he gets no respect. And if he wastes my time, then I will cast him aside. I have no scruples about such things.” Chase’s words were met with stunned silence.

“Wait,” now Pedrosa was the one scratching his head, “You mean you bullied Jack and beat him like my Grandma Marìa’s throw rug…to teach him some sort of twisted lesson?” He shook his head like a wet dog. “Dude, I hate the guy, but even I think that’s super shitty.”   

Scowling, Omi spun on his heel and stormed back toward dragon, dragging Raimundo after him. As he got on Dojo, he turned one last time and called, "Perhaps what you say is true. Perhaps all your abuse will redirect Jack Spicer’s behavior, but I would not count on top of it! It may be that you will soon no longer have an ally, but will instead find yourself with a competitor. Maybe Spicer will even finally to decide to become a force for good." He sprung up Dojo's scaly green hide after Pedrosa and flipped onto the large dragon’s back, behind Clay. Immediately, Dojo leapt into the sky, coiling through the clouds, disappearing into the distance.

The evil warlord on the ground frowned thoughtfully at the diminishing forms of the Xiaolin Dragons. They were right. He had been a tad lazy of late. It was time to pay a visit to Spicer. 

*****

He appeared directly into Spicer's laboratory. The young man never kept healthy sleeping hours anyway....if he had been there. The warlord blinked, truly surprised for the first time in over a century. The basement lab yawned in front of him, completely empty. Not a single lug nut or Jackbot wire left behind. Curious, Chase Young ascended the stairs. The entire course was void of any sign of life or occupant. It looked like a new house on the market. Knowing what he would find, he climbed up the stairs on silent feet to Spicer's room. Sure enough, it was completely empty.  There wasn't even a trace of the man's distinct scent: a blend of metal and oil, but also of the aromatic of earl grey tea. The smell of late nights of no sleep and endless work. It was a comforting smell, familiar, warm. He snorted and shook himself. No time to think about his odd fixation on the young Heylin. 

He travelled through space once more to reappear in a room at the top of his citadel. The glass ceiling revealed the inky beauty of the night sky, framed by the mosaic walls depicting scenes of his greatest victories. There was nothing in the room save a black marble column in the middle of it. On top of the column was a the Eye Spy Orb, a sphere, yellowed with age. The sound of Chase'd dark leather gauntlets hitting the tile floor echoed off the tile walls. His bare hands grasped the glass. Leaning forward, Chase breathed, fogging the surface of the Orb. "Jack Spicer," he hissed.

The Eye Spy Orb went dark. Chase Young watched closely, waiting for the darkness to dissipate. It didn't. 

He growled at the Orb, "Jack Spicer," he said louder. The Orb stayed stubbornly dark. "Lucas Spicer, " he spat. A light emerged from within the orb and slowly an image formed: An older man stood behind a desk, staring down at what looked like blueprints. There were traces of Jack in his face, but the faces was older, more ruthless and angular with salt and pepper hair. His skin was of course a few shades tanner. No Jack.

"Madeline Spicer," from the light came Jack's mother, appearing on the sphere’s surface. She was in a department store, with three large, colorful shopping bags on each arm. She had an impish smirk similar to Jack's when he was about to do something particularly devious. Her blond hair fell in lazy curls to her shoulders. No Jack Spicer.

The Orb was working. There had to be some other explanation. Suddenly, the man sneered. Perhaps Jack had aligned himself with a powerful sorcerer who uncovered a spell to block his scrying. This rebellion could not go unanswered.  His sneer grew into a horrible smile; he leaned forward over the orb. ”Jackbot number JB-15," he said. The inside of a large warehouse or factory building came into view. He could see not just one, but a whole company of Jackbots. Some read textbooks, others typed away on computers, and some wielded blow torches on some large metal contraption. 

Chase snapped his fingers and appeared in the center of the warehouse. "Jackbots." He greeted cooly. In an instant he was surrounded. "Tell your master I'm here to see him." Not a single Jackbot moved. His smug smile faded. "You do not wish to annoy me, metal men."

They looked at one another, the machines and the dragon in a man's body. One of the Jackbots hovered closer. “It is not our intention to annoy you, Chase Young. But our master is not here. We can take you to him, if you wish."

"That is what I asked." Chase hissed, barely reining in his impatience. 

The Jackbot who spoke to him first led him outside. They were in the middle of a large piece of immaculately kept land. Far in the distance Chase could see a highway and the borders of the property, but they were several acres away. It was clear Jack had set aside this plot of land for something, as for what it was, Chase had no notion. 

As he followed the Jackbot down a dirt path, Chase sniffed. They passed a swath of land set aside as a produce garden. A collection of Jackbots were harvesting strawberries, watermelon, zucchini, squash, cabbages, carrots—all impossibly ripe for harvesting at the same time.  Their spoils were tucked securely into hovering wooden bins. Beyond, the plot stretched the rest of the property divided into complex flowerbeds: periwinkle hydrangeas, brilliant yellow daffodils, lilies of all varieties, an entire rainbow of pansies, and groves of sunflowers to most the arranged flowers might seem random, but Chase could perceive a pattern. They were planted to form in mathematical fractals. The result was a galaxy of vibrant petals with its own innate beauty. It was breath-taking. 

And there was so much more. 

Orchards of fruit-bearing trees and other decorative species, herb gardens, rare and exotic plants from all corners of the globe, with Jackbots carefully tending to every corner of the yard, but the Jackbot cut straight through the scenery toward a small clutch of aspen trees arranged in a semi-circle. They stopped in the middle of the curve where, nestled in the grass, was a headstone. Chase stared at it, unable to comprehend its significance for a long moment. 

“Aspen trees are said to symbolize determination and the overcoming of fears and doubts. Master Spicer was always doubting his worth.” The Jackbot hovering beside him said in the lowest voice in its register. “We chose to plant these trees here to show our hope he is finally free of those fears and doubts.”

Chase couldn’t tear his eyes away from the headstone:

 

Jack Spicer

Evil Boy Genius, gone too soon

Born 1989—Died 2008

 

“The further the spiritual evolution of mankind advances, 

the more certain it seems to me that the path to genuine 

religiosity does not lie through the fear of life, and the fear 

of death, and blind faith, but through striving after 

rational knowledge.” 

Albert Einstein

 

“What happened.” When he spoke Chase Young’s voice was a thing of cold steel. 

The Jackbot brushed a speck of dirt off the pristine black marble of the headstone. “He took his own life.” It stared with Chase at the slab of marble. The robot seemed to be struggling to find words. “Life had become too heavy for him to carry, and none us were sufficient to help him. We tried, but we couldn’t fill the void that was the lack of human companionship.” 

Chase knelt on the soft earth, “How long ago?”

“Three months.” 

Chase cursed. That was when Spicer stopped coming to the showdowns. This was unforgivable, a lapse on his part, to miss something this big. Gods, he should have seen Spicer growing depressed. He had seemed as lively and cocksure as usual. As hw thought back, Chase remembered there had been something darker in his eyes in the days before his death. The warlord had dismissed at as teenage angst. He had been wrong.  

“How did he do it?” Chase pictured Spicer in his mind’s eye: on a roof, in front of a noose, with a gun muzzle kissing his forehead. He couldn’t imagine getting low enough to take his own life. How desperate must Spicer have been. Barbed wire wound its way around his throat, scraping it raw. He swallowed thickly passed the unfamiliar discomfort. 

“He cut his wrists in the bath after a particularly rough showdown.” Was it a showdown he had attended? Had he said something particularly cruel? Or had the weight of his words simply compiled until Jack collapsed under their weight? “The Medbot found him. If you want to know more, then you might want to find it. It is working at a local hospital.” The Jackbot said quietly. It studied the dragon, red mechanical eyes contracting to bring him into better focus. “You seem to be taking this harder than previously anticipated, sir.  I apologize if I have upset you.”

“It’s fine.” His gloved finger reached out to touch Spicer—Jack’s name. He looked up at the robot, “Tell me about what drove Jack to this. Walk me through what you know about his thoughts and life. I appear to have…miscalculated.” 

Knowing that was likely the largest admission of guilt Chase Young had ever made, the Jackbot complied and told the dragon all about its former master, noting as it did so what an unexpected relief it was to talk about Master Jack with someone other than one of its siblings. It told Chase about Jack’s estrangement from his family members. How they avoided him and whispered hateful things behind his back, lacing their words with thinly veil threats. How Jack had been taking care of himself since he learned to walk and feed himself. How being a a genius and a human mutation known as an “albino” separated him from his peers and encouraged fear and violence from them. It talked about how Jack drank in ever unkind word and came home from showdowns with broken bones and internal bleeding. It talked about being born at the hands of its master, respecting and loving the fingers which created it. It talked about how, before going to any showdown, Jack ensured each of his robots had back-up memory disks so they would never truly be destroyed. 

Finally, it told Chase about how Jack prepared a place for them in a world without him: gave them land, material, research, written endorsements, and vouchers of competence from reputable experts which allowed them to apply for any job they wanted.

The picture of the man the robot created for Chase Young as he sat there on the grass, hands palm up on his knees, was entirely different from the annoying boy Chase thought he was. 

Under the gothic make up Jack hid a tattered ego, held together only by the steely determination to carry on despite obstacles, driving toward his goals with a single-minded determination. Concealing his bitterness and hurt desperation behind a flawless mask of petulance, melodrama, and a sarcasm. There had been an unseen depth to the boy that would now never be uncovered or cultivated by a master. Chase passed a hand over his eyes and hissed. If Jack had been able to trick several Xiaolin masters and the Heylin Prince of Darkness himself, then there had indeed been great potential within the him. And to come to this end: alone, unloved, forgotten, hating one’s self so much that Jack could see no other option but to end it all. It was a fate the dragon lord would not have wished on his worst enemy. “I wish I’d known this. I understand he could not tell me, but I wish I had seen.” He did not know who he spoke to, the robot or himself. “This will not happen under my watch ever again; this I so swear.”

Beeping in surprise, Jackbot-17 said, “Sir, Master Young, you cannot but the blame of this solely on yourself.”

“Ah, but if not me, who?” asked Chase, pulling a wickedly curved dagger from the air. Light flashed off the blade as he sliced it across the inside of his left hand with the speed of a striking snake. “You shall be my witness, Jackbot.” The man tipped his hand, allowing the dark blood to spill out to splash onto the earth’s face, “Here,” he intoned, “on this day, I, Chase Young, Heylin Prince of Darkness swear on my blood I shall never again drive another Heylin warrior to committing the atrocity of suicide.” The familiar sting of dark magic flickered through his body. 

*****

Rather than returning to his palace in the Land of Nowhere, Chase Young appeared at the Xiaolin temple. The fact that neither he nor the young monks knew of Jack’s untimely death was inexcusable. Master Fung was meditating on the grounds just outside of the iron temple gates. Screaming shrilly, Dojo dove from Fung’s shoulders to hide, quivering, under a small stone. This would normally illicit a snort or an eye roll from Chase, but he could not muster up his usual distain for the lizard. “Master Fung,” he instead stated cooly, bowing ceremonially to the surprised monk. 

“Chase Young,” the man stood, brushed the dust off his pants and returned the gesture respectfully. Chase was impressed by how unfazed he appeared. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to inform you and your students of a recent tragedy.” 

Master Fung’s wise blue eyes searched Chase Young’s impassive features. Finding no hint of aggression or treachery, he turned to Dojo. “Get the young monks,” he raised a hand, forestalling the dragon’s objections. “Now.” Dojo fled, and, in minutes, they were surrounded by the four Xiaolin warriors. 

Ignoring the threatening stances of the teenagers, Chase bowed to convey his peaceful intentions. Unsurprisingly the monks didn’t bow back. From the disappointment wafting off their master, Chase knew the monks would be receiving a hefty lecture on etiquette later. “Jack Spicer is dead by his own hand as of three months ago.” He said in an apropos of nothing.

The change in the monks was astonishing. Their fierce faces melted down to shock, denial, and sadness. Omi stumbled back as if struck by the warlord, tripped over an uneven piece of turf and collapsed onto the ground his brilliant yellow complexion the color of buttermilk. His eyes were wide and staring. Raimundo’s skin also changed color, but he took on a guilt-ridden greyish hue. He gagged, covering his mouth with his hand and dashed away to empty the contents of his stomach behind a bush pressed against the brick walls of the temple. Doffing his ten-gallon hat, the cowboy held it close to his chest like a security blanket, tears budding at the corners of his cornflower blue eyes. 

“You’re lying!” shrieked Kimiko over Raimundo’s retching. The monk summoned her element and hurled herself at the dragon lord, her fists burning. 

Chase readied himself to divert Kimiko’s attack, but Master Fung stepped in front of him and grasped her wrists. “No, Kimiko, I do not think he would have a reason to lie about this.” She struggled briefly, rebelliously refusing to believe. Then her face crumbled and she sagged against her teacher, sobbing into his robe, holding onto him with all her strength. 

Turning away, Chase Young vanished, spiriting himself away to his palace. He preferred to nurse his sorrow alone by meditating in his garden.


	2. Making an Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for a game of ninja? Cause it's time for a showdown.
> 
> Also, thoughts are in italics....if I haven't said anything about that before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Updates will be sporadic. I will give you what I have as soon as I can though.

The familiar sensation of a wu activation buzzed in the back of Chase Young’s skull as he sipped at his morning cup of tea. He closed his eyes and strengthened his magical intuition. _Aah, nothing of import_. It was merely the Yew Bracelet. The bracelet was said to not be made by Dashi at all, but was rather a ring that fell off the finger of a shinigami. He snorted to himself, amusing, but not very likely. The power of the ring itself seemed rather redundant as well; it lowered the temperature of the room and filled one’s enemies with paralyzing fear. He was Chase Young! He inspired fear just by walking into a room. What need have he for petty trifles like a large mood ring? The cup rose to his lips once more. Relaxing back on his throne, the dark haired man took another sip. 

He choked, eyes wide. His fist clenched around the delicate blue and white china tea cup which shattered with a weak tinkle. Hot water scalded his hand and splashed onto his lap and the floor. An icy thrill raised the hairs on the back of Chase’s neck. “Interesting,” he murmured to himself. Other than his Shen Gong Wu sense, he didn’t often get promotions or premonitions, but the frosted delight curling within him could mean only one thing: something big was going to happen at the showdown. 

Ashanti, an elegant savanna cat sauntered gingerly into the room. _Master?_ She mewed, concerned. 

“Everything is fine.” He reassured, snapping his fingers to summon the Shroud of Shadows. “Clean up this mess,” he gestured at the destroyed bits of teacup on the dais. The dark fabric of the shroud fluttered toward him through the air. Snatching it, his fingers clicked together again, and he was gone. 

The plains he stepped onto gently sloped down into a shallow ravine. In the distance, similar curving plains emerged, far in the distance a dark forest rose out of the ground. The air smelled was heavy with rain, the promise of cold, and mountain stone. New Zealand was always beautiful in the spring. He tapped into his intuition once more, and located the wu in the bottom of the small valley. With a graceful gesture, he settled the shroud over his shoulders and sank down into the tall grass to wait and watch. 

It was about an hour before he could spot the telltale sign of a green streak in the sky that signified the arrival of the Xiaolin Dragons. Either they’d gotten lazy, or they just didn’t think anyone would be interested in this wu. Still, he waited. When they were about three miles away, going at a leisurely pace, a glint of light shone on the edge of Chase’s peripheral vision. 

Turning quickly, Chase saw a figure riding on the back of something which shone in the dim light of the lowering sun approaching at great speeds from the shadowy forest. The glare off the beast was to great to clearly make out the details, the dragon’s pupils narrowed till they were almost swallowed whole by the gold irises. A cloud lazily drifted over the sun and then the moving glint of light had a shape. A metal wolf the size of a horse streaked full-tilt toward where Chase sensed the wu. And atop the mechanical monstrosity, rode a man with vibrant purple, almost violet, hair. Strong Heylin magic wafted off him like the scent of bitter coffee. Chase shivered in excitement: A new piece stepping onto the chessboard for the first time in over a decade. The Heylin hadn’t had a new member since Vlad the Kazak or perhaps the reappearance of that annoying plant. Hopefully it would stay dormant for another thousand-odd years. 

Too late, the monks realized they lost their lead on the wu. Dojo noticeably sped up, stream-lining his gigantic lizard’s body, dropping through the sky like a stone. The opposing parties reeled in the distance, approaching at break-neck speeds. Chase could see details of the man now. He bent low over the metal wolf, hands clenched. His dark fabric clung tightly to his slight form. His pale skin contrasted sharply with his dark clothing. The dragon swept just overhead, closing fast, but the wolf accelerated with a last burst of speed. Thirty seconds till engagement. Twenty. Seven. The man rose in his seat, bunching his legs under him and dove for the wu just as it looked like the wolf would surge past it. But Kimiko was already in the air, springing from Dojo’s long back. The wolf skidded, coming to a halt, throwing chunks of dirt and grass into the air. By the time the soil had settled, Dojo landed lightly on the New Zealand plains. “Whoa guys!” the dragon shouted as he diminished, “That was one of the most epic entrances I’ve seen since Wuya and Dashi duked it out over this one particularly attractive prostitute in the area now known as Shanghai!” From his hiding place, Chase chuckled, remembering the incident. 

Kimiko and the stranger rose, ignoring dirt on their clothes. In her late twenties or early thirties, the female monk cut a striking figure. Petite with a generous bosom, white skin and dark hair, she wore the distinctive red tunic of the Xiaolin. Her eyes crackled with fire as she glared at her future opponent. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?” she sneered. 

 _I would like to know that too_ , thought Chase as he examined the man. The stranger carried himself like a diplomat, with poise and subdued power in all his movements. His clothes were tailored to fit: a dark suede tabard, olive green with black fastenings, overlaying black harem pants. On his feet were soft black boots that clung to his calves like a second skin. The tabard’s sides were shorter than the front and back which hung down to his knees in an elegant arrow. The design ensured his legs possessed the full range of movement. His parchment-pale arms were bare, save the black leather bracers encasing his forearms. The stranger shook his brilliant hair away from his face, and Kimiko yelped in shock. The other monks also cried out in alarm. 

The man had no face. From his pointed chin to his widow’s peak was a blank slate.

Chase leaned back, already sure he would be immensely entertained by whatever showdown followed. “What’s wrong?” The man asked. “Oh gods! Is there something on my face?!” His free hand not clutching the glorified wooden bracelet in his hand reached up to grope in mock panic at where his face should have been. He sighed in mock relief, “Nope! Still nothing. Man, you’d think good guys like the great Xiaolin monks would have better manners than to gawk at the deformities.” He shrugged, “Guess you can’t expect perfection from even the best in the hero biz.” His voice dripped with sugary flattery. Trotting up to the group, the wolf barked in agreement and sat down, six yards behind his master. 

Horrified that they might have offended this newcomer, Omi took a step forward. “My friend, I apologize for me and my companions’ unbecoming behavior. Please, forgive our unwealthy manners.” Barring the flubbed idiom, Omi had changed a good deal over the years. He now greatly resembled a yellower, slightly more limber version of Guan. “If you would just let go of the Yew Bracelet, you can come back to our temple, and we can attempt to make up for our impolite behavior.”

There was a pause, then the stranger was cackling like a hyena, bent almost double over his knees. “Do you honestly think I will just give you this Shen Gong Wu? No no no.” He snorted loudly, struggling to compose himself as he slowly straightened, “I’m afraid not, Omi. I have slightly more…nefarious, purposes for this wu.”

The youngest monk frowned deeply in disappointment, “I am sorry to hear that, friend, but you seem to have us at a disadvantage. You know who we are, but we have not the slightest idea who you might be. Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself to us?” Omi asked.

“Ah, how remiss of me!” The stranger place a delicate hand on his breast-bone. “You may call me Vapor.” Vapor inclined his head at the monks respectfully. He looked at the other two monks who had not yet spoken. “And you are Raimundo and Clay, dragons of wind and earth.” Raimundo, still the bad boy of the group, was all tan, hard, muscle with a five o’clock shadow on his face. Built like a bear, Clay Bailey stood head-and-shoulders over both Raimundo and Omi. They returned the brief nod.

Dojo inched up to Kimiko and Vapor. “Alright contenders, I assume everyone knows what to do? Yes? Good! Right,” inexplicably wearing a black and white striped referee outfit and silver whistle, Dojo continued “I want a clean match, cut and dry—break!” He blew the whistle, loud and shrill. If he’d had eyes, Chase imagined Vapor would be rolling them. 

“My Lotus Twister against Vapor’s,” Kimiko trailed off, looking at the faceless man expectantly.

“Oh! I don’t have one yet; this is my first. Isn’t that exciting?!” Vapor waved off the monks’ loud objections, “Oh hush! I have something of equal value to wager.” He gestured behind him. “I wager my ride, Havoc.”

The wolf barked again, seeming to not object to the bet. That, or he was really confident his master would win. Chase didn’t doubt for a second that the bot didn’t understand what was being said. In its florescent red eyes was a chilling intelligence, and its design was far too sophisticated for its inventor not to have gifted it with understanding. Its entire body seemed to be made of diamond shaped joints that allowed its body to move with a preternatural grace. It was like looking through a monochrome kaleidoscope. Its tale wagged cheerily. Clearly it shared its master’s perky disposition.

“Will that suffice?” Vapor asked, cocking his head to the side inquisitively.

Kimiko looked at Dojo who nodded. “It will.” She said. Her face was screwed up, clearly trying to think of a challenge where Vapor couldn’t use his machine. “The game is ninja, you know it? Each opponent gets one move per turn, the point of the game is to get the others in the game out by slapping each one of their hands.”

“Don’t forget, you also can have a movement to get away from an attack.” Vapor added, “Yes, I know it.”

“Good.” Said Kimiko. “Gong Yi Tan Pai!” The two chorused. 

The shadows under them lengthened, and the dark forest in the distance sprung closer until it created an arena around the combatants. Havoc whined as the trees grew into pillars of darkness, void of any features. It seemed the very air around them turned a hollow grey. “Sit, Havoc. You’ll be of no use to me here,” called Vapor, careful not to move a muscle. The dog did as his master asked and lay down, curled up at the edge of the dark arena, eyes trained vigilantly on Vapor, waiting for any change in directions. “Your move, dragon of fire.” 

Kimiko nodded, and, without warning lunged. The man, instead of springing fully backward, took one small step to the side. When Kimiko landed he instantly slashed his hand down to strike her outstretched fingers which only seconds before had been aiming for his own. There was a resounding “thwak” as one of Kimiko’s hands was taken out of commission. She yelped and struck back in an attempt at retaliation. Ready for her assault, however, Vapor flipped safely out of her reach, landing lightly on the limb of one of the black trees. “Oooo, so close.” He hummed to himself and examined a two-dimensional black leaf next to his face. He seemed to lean forward slightly peering at it, “Well would you look at that? tangible shade.” Abruptly, Vapor yelled, “Hey Kimiko, isn’t this cool? The trees are made of solid shadows!” 

“What makes you think I care?! Lotus Twister!” Yelled Kimiko, her hair had come loose from her neat ponytail to whip angrily around her face.  

Her body contorted in a twisting spring which bounced forward toward Vapor, who tsked, “Temper, temper, temper.” He dropped out of the way, allowing the dragon of fire to strike at an empty branch. For his move he calmly stepped in front of one of the shadow trees. As soon as his foot was firmly on the ground Kimiko, predictably, barreled into him. To Chase’s disappointment, Vapor did not get out of the way in fast enough this time. The faceless man, choosing to sacrifice one of his hands to protect his chest—not that it did much good. His hand collided with his chest with enough force to lift him off his feet and drive him backward into the tree.

But when he impacted the tree, instead of thudding against it, he was absorbed by it., silver ripples emanating from where he vanished. In the next instant he reemerged from a different tree behind Kimiko, rocketing forward, carried by the kinetic energy from the dragon of fire’s strike. Twisting his body in the air, Vapor drew his remaining hand back to slap Kimiko’s hand which had dropped to her side in shock when he had vanished into the trunk of the first tree. Vapor laughed as the wu’s light blinded everyone, when then light faded, everyone was back in the middle of the New Zealand plains and the eerie forest dissipated.

Chase Young smirked. He didn’t know how Vapor had used the trees as a means of instant transportation, but it appeared that the new Heylin player had not made the decision to sacrifice his hand lightly, but had cunningly seized an opportunity to flank his opponent. Quite the innovation. 

Rising from where the earth, Vapor shook his hand in pain, “Holy Dashi, Lady! You pack one hell of a punch. I’m going to feel that in the morning!” He bent and snagged the Yew Bracelet. “I’ll take this AND the Lotus Twister, please.” The purple hair drifted over his black face as he looked down to tuck the bracelet into a pocket in his baggy haram pants. 

Reluctantly handing over her wu, Kimiko scowled, “How did you do that underhanded disappearing trick?”

Vapor looked up to pluck the lotus from his opponent, “You mean the maneuver that wouldn’t have worked if you tried to hammer me into a tree with enough force to kill a normal, untrained person? Do you mean the maneuver I used against a trained Xiaolin dragon warrior who can manipulate fire and had a magic toy with transformative properties while I was unable to use the tool I had to my advantage? That maneuver?” Chase imagined a shit-eating grin donning his face. The monks looked collectively horrified. The man tapped his chin with a finger thoughtfully, “You know what? I don’t think I’m going to tell you that.” 

At his whistle, Havoc trotted over, light dancing off its metal sides like water reflections. Using one hand, Chase noticed it was the one that hadn’t been struck by Kimiko, Vapor swung himself up onto the wolf’s back. “Oh,” the man said as though it were an afterthought, “by the way, you do know control is far more impressive than brute force, don’t you, Kimiko? The fact that you chose to use full power instead of speed and tactics tells me you are more than merely immature. You are inadequate.” With that parting shot, the wolf took off at a run, going from zero to about one hundred and fifty kilometers an hour in seconds. Soon it was only a glimmer on the line of the horizon. 

“Woah!” Dojo exclaimed, eyes wide as softballs, “Where did he come from?”

Chase stood, a thrum of excitement racing through him. He couldn’t wait to see the man again. Too bad he hadn’t stuck around so Chase could introduce himself. He shrugged; fortunately he had other ways of finding out all that he possibly could about his potential ally.

*****

With a snarl of frustration, Chase stormed out of the chamber where his Eye Spy Orb rested. He slashed a priceless Monet with his partially transformed claws. His warriors scampered from the room like children. Wise of them. The dragon warlord whirled around and knocked an ancient Babylonian sculpture from its pedestal. A loud crash echoed off the curved walls of his palace as the statue of Ishtar smashed against the marble floors. A smoky red curse remnant rose from the wreckage with a shrill screech and soared away through the stained glass ceiling. 

The Orb failed him. The last time it appeared to malfunction was after Spicer’s death, but failed because what made Spicer himself was no longer present in the realms of the living. The clear glass had not even attempted to search, but stayed dark. 

Now, when Chase searched for the man who called himself Vapor, the Orb flickered with light as if it was attempting to summon an image, but then the Orb’s light was snuffed out as if it had forgotten it had an objective. This happened three consecutive times. It could only mean one thing: Vapor could magically block attempts to scry him. The man was as hard to grasp as the gas he named himself after. He slipped through Chase’s fingers without even trying. But how? The Orb was older than every kind of scrying protection Chase could think of. The magic powering the orb was thickly woven with Heylin magics of prying and surveillance and with piercing offensive spells to destroy or circumvent all manner of protections.  

Except this one.

Hissing, Chase stalked off, heading in the direction of his massive gardens. He needed to meditate and calm his anger. It had been a long time since he’d felt out of control or powerless. He didn’t appreciate remembering how it felt. 

Flinging the doors open, Chase walked into the warmth and light of the sun as it coated his picturesque gardens. He shifted into his true form and slithered through the garden to his favorite basking spot: a slab of obsidian set on a small grassy knoll encircled by a ring of cherry trees. Though slightly shaded, the obsidian was always hot to the touch. His gigantic scaly body weaved through the trees, sculptures, and flowerbeds; the greenery softly stroked his armored underbelly. Finally he came upon the cluster of sakura trees and happily curled up on the black stone, basking in the heat emanating from it. The tension which built up in his venom-green at the Orb’s disappointing failure slowly trickled away. After all, it wasn’t as though he would never see the new Heylin ever again. No doubt he would show up at the next showdown. With that in mind, Chase settled his monstrous head on his cruelly curved talons and allowed himself to doze off.

*****

Three consecutive showdowns later and the man still hadn’t made an appearance. The Wu Don Boomerang, the Mongolian Razor, and the Lock-Picker Bunny all came and went without a single appearance by the man in purple hair, and the warlord knew this for certain because he had shown up to—Every. Single. One. 

The wu up for grabs were all small fish and of no interest to a powerful sorcerer like Chase Young. Five months gone and not a whisper of activity. After the latest wu’s’ emergence without the mysterious man’s appearance, Chase decided a cruder form of investigation might be in order. Naturally, going from door-to-door wasn’t as sophisticated as watching from the perspective of a magical crystal ball. Considering the magic Vapor wielded to block farseeing methods, there was no other option. 

He must resort to gossip. Plebeian as it might be. And if he was researching the latest juicy scandals of the underworld’s best and darkest, then there was only one person he could go to. That’s how Chase found himself materializing into the foyer of Katnappé’s pastel mansion. Why a grown woman like her still insisted on dressing up like a cat when committing crime was beyond him, and was frankly embarrassing to the Heylin ranks as a whole. However, when it came to stealth and information retrieval, there was no one better. 

Cat paraphernalia littered every inch of her sprawling, pink excuse of a house. Fortunately, he found her in her study with relevant ease. Hunched over an array of blueprints, it seemed like she was preparing for a heist of some kind. A grey tabby licked its paw on the table. Chase approached her on silent feet. “Ashley.”

She spun around, a knife pulled from gods-only-know where in her hand. When she recognized him, she lowered the weapon instantly, probably knowing it was of no use against a dragon. “Chase, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The cat flicked its tail dismissively at them and wandered from the room. Chase looked after it in amusement. He appreciated cats and respected their contrariness. Ashley straightened her horn-rimmed glasses and tucked a strand of blond hair that had slipped from her bun behind a dainty ear. No one looking at the slender woman in a fashionable blue pants suit would see anything past her day job as a museum curator. But Chase knew her as a slippery thief with little-to-no code of conduct.   

Refusing to debase himself by asking this minx for help, Chase said, “I have a job for you.” She straightened and placed her hands on her hips. “You do it well, and I will give you the ‘Gayer-Anderson Cat.’” Her other eyebrow lifted in surprise. Smiling dangerously, Chase said, “I’m sure you’re familiar with the piece: bronze, from about 660-330 BC, an effigy of the Egyptian, cat-goddess Bastet.”

Ashley sat down heavily in a nearby, lavender armchair, “But I thought it was at the British Museum!” She spluttered. 

The dangerous smile widened, revealing more of his dangerously sharp teeth, “Yes, the curators of the museum also seem to be under that impression, don’t they?”

Giddy, the blond aristocrat giggled, “That’s incredible, Young! I would love to own such a spectacular piece of history.” She leaned forward, “What do I need to do?” 

Chase clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing absentmindedly. “There’s a new ‘face’ on the side of evil. He goes by the name Vapor. His hair is a very distinct purple, and he walks around without a face. I would hazard he has some affinity for mechanical engineering  judging by the horse-sized metal canine I saw him on. He can also do some intriguing things with shadows.” Eyes wide, Ashley watched the normally imperturbably man walk back and forth across the room. “I need to know anything you’ve heard and am commissioning you to find out as much as you can.”

Ashley hrmed thoughtfully, leaning back in her plush, velvet chair. “I haven’t heard much, but I do know something more than worth your while.” She adjusted her glasses again, a nervous tick. “We don’t know much about the scrolls from the Library of Alexandria, but a year ago in 2019 archeologists found some scrolls which had been rescued from the fire. These scrolls had some seriously dark juju from Persia, Babylon, and Canaan—these things were Judeo-Christian Old Testament ancient. Way older than you, Chase, by thousands of years.” 

She sighed and scratched the bun perched on the top of her head, “Unfortunately for the Heylin, a prominent archeologist in the party had Xiaolin affiliations and the scrolls wound up locked somewhere in the Xiaolin temple. To remain unstudied for as long as those self-righteous pricks can protect them, and they have some seriously potent defensive measures in place.” A wistfulness glazed her eyes for a moment, but she shook herself. “Once the archeologists heard of the intention to remove the scrolls to a secure location, one money-loving con elected to take a few pictures with his camera phone.” An evil twinkle sparked in her smug smile, “I caught wind of it, acquired the phone, and the guy died under mysterious circumstances. Oops.” Katnappé shrugged. 

“Get to the point, girl.” 

“Calm your scales, Dragon Lord. I’m getting to it; I promise. I just want you to appreciate the full value of my information.” Standing, Ashley moved back to her desk to pour a shot of amber bourbon into a crystal decanter. “Want one? No? Suit yourself.” She downed it. 

Chase rolled his eyes, missing when she and a certain boy genius were cowed with a glare and a sharp word. Giving herself another two fingers, Ashely leaned nonchalantly against the table, nonverbally offering Chase the obnoxious light purple chair which he grudgingly accepted. “Each scroll,” she continued, gesturing with the glass, “was about _necromancy._ ” Chase’s golden eyes widened in surprise. True necromancy was an uncommonly rare talent that could only be gained through blood. It was so rare that very few who had the gift died without ever knowing they had the gift because almost no one knew the beginning signs. Chase didn’t even know. He suspected Bean, possibly Dojo as well. “And each scroll,” Ashley said with relish, “talked about shadow manipulation as one of the backbones of the arcane art.”

Now Chase understood the extensive story; he wasn’t sure he would have believed it without Katnappé fully citing her sources. _A necromancer. How extraordinary_. He thought to himself. A hunger welled within him. Now, more than ever, he was determined to uncover Vapor’s secrets. The man would be a valuable asset. “Excellent job, Katnappé.” She was pleased, he noticed, that he condescended to utilize her Heylin identity. “Find out anything you can, and meet me in two weeks time at my fortress.” He straightened and moved toward his hostess, “Do as well as you have done. You might even get a raise.” He used to dispense praise very grudgingly, withholding words of encouragement like a miser. 

Jack’s death taught him he needed to dole out praise with critique in equal measure. It worked too. Ashley purred to herself happily. Her fear of him vanished momentarily in the wake of her happiness in being appreciated. If he had given Jack a tablespoon more of approval—maybe he wouldn’t have…He shrugged away the thought with difficulty. _No use—what was it?—crying over spilt milk?’_  

He cleared his throat. “I would also like to peruse the pictures on the phone if you don’t mind.” Chase looked at her expectantly.

Her face fell, “I’m afraid that is not possible.” She scooped up a wood lacquer box from the corned of the table, drawing out a phone that looked like it had melted. “The magic was too potent for the modern technology; the circuits are fried. Maybe Jack could have—” she cut herself off, looking apprehensively at the dragon. Since Jack Spicer’s suicide, Chase Young had become rather vicious whenever the young man was mentioned. He seemed to have taken Jack’s death personally. Sometimes he became sullen and unpredictable, other times his rage flared and whoever had made the mistake of uttering the albino’s name would have to run for his life. Now, thank gods, Chase distractedly murmured agreements under his breath, gazing thoughtfully into the distance, no doubt composing a plot to rectify the small set back. Ashley breathed quietly in relief. 

“Yessss,” he hissed, “That can happen with particularly saturated magical texts.” He snapped back to the present. “Two weeks then.”

It wasn’t a question, but Katnappé agreed anyway. “Two weeks.” Then he was gone. 

The woman sobbed in gratitude, hands shaking. Her knees shook wildly, and she collapsed. On the ground she downed the rest of her shot. That man was as terrifying as he was inspiring. Now that she was older she couldn’t believe she’d ever had the gall to cross such a terrifyingly intelligent monster. Thankfully, she’d learned to mask her terror over the years. She’d even managed to synthesize a perfume which covered the scent of her fear with the smell of calm confidence and vanilla. 

Maybe one day she could just be a normal crook, outside the Heylin. “Get it together, Ashley.” She commanded herself, getting to her feet. Then she forced a smile that steadily became more real, at least Chase Young paid well, and, now that she could get what he wanted, she had guaranteed safe passage while working with him. Ashley righted her glasses. She could do this. 

 


End file.
